


The Burdens We Bear Upon Our Bodies

by Wanderer (Straggler)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mansion Fic, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straggler/pseuds/Wanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody is without scars, not even well-bred, high society, rich boys like Charles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Burdens We Bear Upon Our Bodies

‘Honestly, Charles, I don’t know how you survived, living in such hardship.’

 

The ragged scar he had on his left shin cramped terribly at Erik’s condescending tone and he had to shift his weight minutely to his right leg to balance out the hurt. He kept his eyes firmly away from the man and his shields up to his maximum potential as he gazed the house he had never once thought of as home. From beside him, Raven snaked a comforting hand around his waist and squeezed. Charles returned the gesture and couldn’t help the kiss he placed on her head, as a token of gratitude for her support.

 

‘Well,’ she began proudly, ‘it was a hardship softened by me.’ She shared a secret smile with him over her shoulder before she made her way towards the mansion. ‘Come on; time for the tour.’

 

The others followed her, with Sean and Alex eagerly at her heels while Moira and Hank followed at a more sedate pace. Erik continued to stare at the house with its large windows, castle-like bricks and overall grandeur with an unimpressed look. Not wanting to subject himself to more of the man’s sarcasm, Charles quickly followed after Raven, all the while hoping to hide the sudden limp he had developed on his left leg.

 

Scars were terrible things, with its phantom hurts and pains, but it’s always the memories that crippled Charles the hardest.

 

\--

 

_Honestly, Charles, I don’t know how you survived, living in such hardship._

 

He didn’t know, Erik didn’t know. In fact, nobody but Raven knows. For the first time in years, Charles couldn’t help but wonder just where his step-brother had disappeared off to. He hadn’t actively searched for that broken mind since the time of their accident down in the labs and their parting of ways.

 

The jagged scars on his right bicep ached, deeper than he had ever recalled it hurting. It almost felt as if he had somehow fallen down on top of broken crystal all over again. Charles rubbed at the site, hard at first then soft and slow. It often helped but this time, the pain refused to fade.

 

‘Is it hurting again?’

 

Charles jumped and looked up to see Raven staring at him with a worried expression on her pale features. He sighed and let go of his arm as he settled more comfortably onto the window ledge and pressed the side of his body onto the glass.

 

‘It never stops hurting, my dear,’ he said as he turned his attention to the outside and kept his gaze firmly away. He didn’t want to see her look angry at him, or sad, or guilty; he sent her away from the mansion – from his drunken mother, from his poor excuse of a step-father, and from his abusive step-brother– to protect her and to save her from that hell. It’s been years, but the memories that lingered in every hallway and in every room and in every step he took in this house still made him _ache_.

 

He heard her sigh, and he heard the thump-thump of her boots on the floor as she took her customary spot beside him. Cool hands wrapped around his and when he turned to look, her complexion had shifted to one of blue.

 

‘You’re distracted.’

 

He blinked and then smiled at her with a bit of cheek. ‘As usual.’

 

She didn’t seem the slightest bit amused. ‘You didn’t even see me coming. Is this about what Erik said?’

 

Charles’ smile dropped and he quickly turned his gaze away from hers. He felt her grip tighten over his, cool and comforting. He squeezed back and kept her there while he tried to ignore the twinge he felt on his left leg and right arm.

 

‘Yes, but if I’m to be honest, it’s less of what Erik said and more about being in this house again.’

 

‘We didn’t have to come back.’

 

‘Where else could we have gone to?’

 

‘Anywhere but here; you didn’t have to sacrifice your comfort and peace of mind just so the rest of us could belong.’

 

He bit his lip, breathed in through his nose and exhaled shakily. ‘Raven, this place is the only place I could think of that we could use. Besides, a little discomfort never killed anyone.’

 

Raven frowned and looked on the verge of angry tears. In the end, she let go and stalked towards the door. ‘Remember when you said that about Cain?’

 

Funny how things worked out.

 

\--

 

Every floor, every room and every staircase made certain parts of his body twist in pain. For that reason, he often confined himself in the study, lingered in the kitchen, or stayed outside, well away from the memories that dogged his every step.

 

His neck and shoulder hurt, and he regretted power-walking past the west wing in a shortcut attempt across the grounds to reach Alex faster. Though, if he hadn’t, Alex would’ve probably injured more than just his pride. Charles let it go.

 

‘Do you need a neck massage?’

 

He turned and spotted Moira standing not five feet away from him, a small stack of papers in hand. He pulled his arm away and shook his head. ‘No. No, its fine; nothing to worry about.’

 

She frowned, as though sensing a lie, but she took his statement at face-value and changed the subject. ‘I’ve been meaning to speak to you about the files I’ve rounded up concerning the Soviets and the American missiles.’ _Colonel Hendry is dead, too._

 

‘Oh, please,’ he ignored the accidental broadcast and gestured for her to follow him towards the kitchen where he could bring around a couple cups of tea to share between them. As they walked and talked, he ignored the sudden stab he felt on his left shoulder when they turned a corner despite never even coming close to colliding with it.

 

\--

 

His stomach hurt terribly, but it wasn’t from lack of food or even too much of it. His stomach hurt terribly because of three small, barely there wrinkles upon his skin on his lower right abdomen. He cited exhaustion that afternoon and retreated to his study in hopes that it would eventually stop hurting. When it didn’t and when he could no longer muster up the will to concentrate on the words of the book he was reading, he then hid away in his bedroom and tried to focus on anything but the cramp he felt pulsing in his gut.

 

At one point, Raven silently walked in and lay down beside him. At one point, Raven brought a cool, damp cloth to pat away at the sweat that gathered on his forehead. At one point, she placed her blue hands (free from any jewelry) over his by his stomach and murmured soft assurances into his ear.

 

‘You’re OK, Charles; I’m here.’

 

The sun had set by the time he recovered and could think clearly enough to realize that he was hungry; starved, even. When the both of them left the room to join the others for dinner, Raven couldn’t help the fond, yet exasperated look on her face as she watched him wolf down his food like he hadn’t had a decent meal in years. It was probably true.

 

\--

 

He liked to drown himself in bourbons, beers and vodkas, because it helped numb the pain and just about everything around him. Charles finally figured out why his mother used to do it all the time, and he can’t particularly blame her for finding comfort in that vice. At least they shared one thing in common; knowing where all the good alcohol is stocked.

 

Raven, however, did not share the same thought.

 

‘Charles, that’s enough,’ she reached for the bottle, but he was still quick enough, though just barely, to get it away from her fingers. At least it didn’t spill.

 

‘Don’t be silly, Raven; I’m barely even drunk.’

 

Her skin rippled from peach to blue and back again, repeatedly until Charles felt distinctively seasick, which was odd because he’s never had that sort of ailment before. Maybe he should consider this glass as his last for the night.

 

Then he poured enough from the bottle to fill half of the tumbler.

 

‘I don’t like it when you’re like this,’ she said as she made a move for the bottle again, but Charles beat her to it; he capped it and slipped it back into the cupboard to hide away for another night.

 

‘I feel the exact same way, which is why I absolutely must drink,’ to demonstrate, he inhaled a large gulp and swallowed, letting out a satisfied sigh at the welcoming burn of the alcohol down his throat.

 

‘I hate this house; we shouldn’t have come back.’

 

‘You were quite eager to return when I first suggested it.’

 

Her mouth hung wide open; shock was visible in her face and her bright yellow eyes. She’s abandoned her ‘normal’ complexion in favor on focusing on the man who looks like her brother but is acting nothing like him. Eventually, she found her words, though they were shaky. ‘I saw _dozens_ of men die that day. I sawDarwin _murdered_ in front of my very eyes and I saw Angel abandon us. You gave us a way out, I took it.’

 

Charles winced and wished he had thought it through before he opened his mouth, but it was too late; Raven’s long retreated back to her own room, her feelings a maelstrom of hate, guilt, heartache and devastating pain.

 

He let out a tired sigh as he reached for the chair behind him and sat down, or tried to; he underestimated the distance. The end result was of him sitting on the floor with the rest of his bourbon seeping into his cardigan, shirt and pants. He sighed again and decided this was enough humiliation for the night; time for bed.

 

As soon as his bedroom door closed behind him, he unbuttoned his cardigan and tossed it near the pile of laundry he has yet to do. Once his bourbon soaked shirt joined the rest of his dirty laundry, the door to his room came open and Charles mentally and verbally cursed for forgetting to lock it. When he turned, Erik’s eyes were fixed on the uneven marks he had across his back. He wanted to turn around, hide it, but his chest and abdomen weren’t that well off, either.

 

‘I meant to check if you were well, since I saw nothing but a turned over glass and a dark patch on the study’s floor.’ _Good to know it’s not blood._

 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m fine; albeit drunk.’ He quickly moved over to his dresser to pick out another shirt, not caring that he’s still partially soaked with alcohol and has yet to have a shower. Just as he was trying to button up his dignity, or what’s left of it, Erik’s hand paused over his and stopped him. In a slight fit, Charles turned his hard gaze towards the man and dared him to provoke him some more; he was itching to rid his humiliation by mustering up another emotion to take over it.

 

Slowly, as though trying to placate a caged animal, Erik pulled at the collar to stare at the scar Charles had in the junction between his neck and shoulder. ‘Your scars are quite old,’ he commented as he let go and allowed the man to continue his task with shaky fingers.

 

‘Yes; like you, I’ve had years to heal them.’ He skipped the button at the collar; the room was too warm for him to handle.

 

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

 

Charles flushed an angry and embarrassed red as he avoided eye contact and buttoned the cuffs, more out of habit than necessity. ‘It’s nothing.’

 

Erik scowled. ‘This is not nothing.’ _You allowed me to assume that you’ve led a painless life; how dare you mock me._

 

‘You are not without your own scars.’

 

‘You know everything about me,’ _all my hurts and pains and burdens._

 

‘Would you like me to return the favor, then?’ He asked with a bit more bite than he felt was necessary. He was lashing out, simply because this was his way of coping.

 

‘It’s only fair.’

 

Charles laughed bitterly. ‘If the world operated on that thought, then every man on this earth would be blind and without limbs.’ Without waiting, he brought his hand up to his temple and they plunged into the memories that lingered in every room, every corridor, every staircase and just…everywhere.

 

\--

 

_They were in a corridor, running towards the kitchen where the maids (someone, anyone) were sure to be. Just as a younger Charles braced himself for a sharp turn, a hand landed on his back and pushed. He crashed into the corner and dizzying pain rippled across his body. He clutched onto his left shoulder and looked up with bleary eyes to Cain who looked victorious in his one-sided game of cat and mouse._

_They were in the west wing, in one of the large rooms that served well for social gatherings. A slightly older Charles, though not by much, sat on the window ledge with a well-worn book in hand. On the far side, the door crept open and in came his step-brother who looked positively happy to see him. Charles quickly and calmly maneuvered his way towards the other door but found it was locked. No matter how much he pushed and struggled with it, the door remained well and truly shut; locked from the other side. From behind him, a shadow loomed, when he turned, he came face to face with Cain and a fireplace poker. It missed his head, but it tore at the skin between his neck and shoulder. He screamed. Cain drew first blood and rejoiced._

_Mother was not well; she’s drinking far too much. Her movements were too wild and sharp, her reaction time was far too slow, so much that she failed to notice when the crystal glass she had in her lax grip had fallen and shattered on the floor. She stood, groggily, and called for the maid before she left towards her bedroom unaware of Charles looking so forlorn. A noticeably older Charles sat on his haunches as he carefully picked up the pieces to put on top of his handkerchief. When someone stepped into the room, he had assumed it would be Claire, one of their house maids, but it was not. A rough hand latched onto the collar of his shirt and yanked. The broken glass fell back onto the floor and Charles was thrown on top of it. Deep cuts dug into his skin and he bled out on the floor. By the time the maid came and screamed at the blood that had seeped into the rug, Cain was happily recounting the amount of crystals he saw imbedded on Charles’ right bicep and bleeding through his fingers._

_Cain had gotten into his father’s room and was wearing one of his rings. It was large and unsightly and despite not being married, Cain was wearing it loosely on his fourth digit. He held up the hand in a fist and showed it to Charles who remained a respectful distance away. When Cain came closer, he did not move, did not run, because if he ran then Cain would chase after him like a demon on his heels and would inflict twice as much more damage than if had he stayed and suffered through it the first time. When Cain drew back a fist, Charles braced himself for pain. The first punch came and all the air left his lungs in a loud whoosh. The second left him completely breathless and the third made him dizzy with the need to breathe. He collapsed and wished Cain didn’t sound so damn happy at the sight of him gasping for air on the ground._

_Kurt never touched him, but the one time he did, it was with a belt to his back. There were six distinct lines across his skin, some deeper and more pronounced than the rest. Some bled, while the others merely bruised and became swollen. Charles had almost drowned himself that day when he tried to soothe his hurts in the bathtub. He hadn’t thought that the pain would flare up so much that his vision would white out and his grip on the porcelain would slip. When he had finally managed to half-drag himself out of the blood-tinted waters, he almost wished he had died there and then; save himself from this seemingly endless misery. But his thoughts turned to Raven and he decided he needed to stay strong, for her sake._

_Almost every room, nook and cranny in the Xavier mansion had at least one confrontation between Charles and Cain. They were bad memories, but the worst one had been down in the labs. Charles knew he was going to die; there was no way out. Cain was unconscious and so will he, soon enough. If the fire didn’t burn him first, then the smoke in the air will claim him. The next few minutes were a blur, a disaster and a flurry of motions and shouts. When his lungs finally breathed in fresh air and spared enough for his brain, he realized that his step-father was dead, Cain was gone and he was able to walk away but with a souvenir on his left shin to remember his near-death experience by._

 

\--

 

When they out of it back to their own mind and their own bodies, Charles collapsed onto the floor of his bedroom with tears escaping from eyes that he had screwed shut in his anguish. The sudden pain was overwhelming and felt as if they were being inflicted, not one at a time but all at once, all over again. His entire body hurt, his mind felt raw and he was just so incredibly tired; tired of being in this house, tired of his memories, and just tired of everything. He wasn’t sure if he screamed or not; his throat felt as if he did.

 

A hand was holding onto his left arm and was carefully maneuvering him towards the bed. All the way, Erik murmured apologies and soft reassurances to his ears. Charles vaguely entertained the thought that perhaps Raven had taken over, but no, it wasn’t Raven; someone else knows now, knows his less-than-stellar past.

 

Erik laid him down on his side and quickly escaped.

 

Charles curled himself into a ball and tried to put up his shields, but they didn’t help; the source of his pain didn’t come from the outside but from within his own mind. Sometimes, he wished he could temper with his own memories just so his past wouldn’t have such a fierce hold over him.

 

Erik returned, much to his surprise, and with a cool, damp cloth to put over his head. He was still murmuring soft words, but they all seemed to meld and join as one long jumble of feelings and emotions. He felt guilt, he felt grief, he felt anger, and he felt worry coming off the man in waves. They crashed into him and doubled his hurts.

 

Charles struggled for breath and willed for his shields to work because it was _all too much for him to handle_. He tried to push the man away, to get him to leave, because he needed to be alone so he could recover. Erik refused, or maybe he had no clue what Charles wanted since he was being barely coherent as he was. Erik refused, though his emotions seemed softer, quieter, gentler, or maybe Charles’ shields were finally up and running.

 

The cloth, now warm, was taken from his forehead and was soon replaced again, cool and fresh. It was soothing, it was calming, and Charles slowly felt his hurts, his pains and his burdens leave him. He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but he knew that Erik had remained with him, all through the night and even past the rising of the sun; a silent sentinel watching over him.

 

In the morning, Erik was gone from his bed, not that Charles had expected anything less from the man, but whenever they exchanged glances, there was a new kind of understanding held between their gazes. Perhaps he could cope living under this roof for a while longer.

 

\--

 

‘Honestly, Charles, I don’t know how you survived, living in such hardship.’

 

Erik’s voice was without condescension or sarcasm; it was genuine, almost surprised.

 

Charles smiled as he picked up his castle and moved it three squares forward. Erik snatched it with his knight and placed it to the side, defeated. Charles didn’t mind seeing it go.

 

‘I could say the same for you, my friend.’

 

The man grinned, wide and all teeth. ‘And we are all the better men for it.’

 

_Yes, we are._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was confused a few times when I watched the movie. I mean, Raven seemed rather close to Charles at the beginning of it all but somehow ended up drifting away from him. And while Erik did grow quite comfortable being around Charles during the road trip, I think when he found out that Charles had been living in a mansion, he didn't feel as though he had as much in common with the man as he had originally thought. So. Raven needed a reason to leave, and Erik needed a reason to become more understanding of Charles.
> 
> I think Charles alienated Raven enough during their stay at the mansion to force her into the decision of choosing a side, even as he bled and lied broken on the beach. These are my thoughts on how Raven went from a sister who is beloved (and still is) to one who’s become estranged (so she thinks) during the course of the movie.
> 
> I don’t think Raven realizes just how much Charles tried for her sake, just as I don’t think he realizes how much he’s hurting her when he becomes self-inflicting. I think it would’ve cleared a lot of things if Raven had trusted him enough to let him into her head, and if Charles didn’t make it seem as if he has no boundaries when it comes to the mind.
> 
> I think they’re both very misunderstood characters, and it feels like there’s a lot of pain between them, said or otherwise. I think they hide too much from each other, because they want to appear strong for each other but in the end only hurt one another. I still think it could’ve been them against the world, if only they would just talk.


End file.
